THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


QUIET 
HOUR  THOUGHTS 


BY 

MARY  BUTLER  TOUCEY 


NEW  YORK 

PRINTED  AT  THE  DE  VINNE  PEESS 
1898 


Copyright,  1898,  by 
MARY  BUTLER  TOUCEY. 


Ps 


CONTENTS. 

DEDICATION 1 

MY  LOVE 8 

FLOWERS  IN  WINTER 9 

A  LULLABY 11 

LONG  YEARS  AGO 12 

TRUE  LOVE ...  14 

NOT  DEAD,  BUT  SLEEPING 15 

"LET  ME  SLEEP"         . 16 

BLIND  BARTIMEUS 18 

FOREVER  ONE .        .  21 

SWEET  MAID  MARIAN        .        .        .        .        .        .        .22 

"COME  UNTO  ME" 24 

THE  WONDERFUL  BALL .27 

To  MY  FRIEND  WHO  BROKE  HER  LEG  ....  30 

A  TIN  WEDDING  ANNIVERSARY 32 

A  VALENTINE    * 34 

BY  FAITH 35 

ONE  DAY 37 

"WELL  DONE!"        .        .        .        .                .        .        .  38 

OUR  FAITH I.      ...  40 

OUR  HOME 42 

"Goo  KNOWS"      .        .'.'.,.       .        .        .  43 

GOLDEN-KOD       .        .                 ." 45 

OUR  SILVER  WEDDING  DAY  .        .  -     .        .        .  46 

"  IN  THE  MORNING  Sow  THY  SEED  "        ....  48 

TO-MORROW   .........  49 

3 


904197 


"Boon,  MOTHER  EARTH!" 50 

DAISIES 53 

ONLY 54 

LOVE  is  LIFE 55 

MY  CROWN 56 

GRANDMOTHER 57 

RENEWAL 60 

HEARTH  AND  HOME 62 

"HAPPIER  Now" 64 

APRIL  RAIN 65 

HAPPY  THOUGHTS 67 

MY  OTHER  HEART 69 

CHANGES 70 

GROW  NOT  OLD 72 

To  MY  HUSBAND 73 

WHY  SHOULD  WE  FEAR  ? 75 

A  CHILD'S  THOUGHTS 76 

SPRING  TIME 78 

LIFE'S  BLESSINGS 80 

"  AWAKE  AND  SING" 82 

"THE  MORN  is  BREAKING" 83 

EASTER  JOY 84 

"CHRIST  OUR  LORD  is  RISEN  TO-DAY"    .        .        .        .85 

" SING  ALLELUIA" 87 

THE  SONG  OF  SALVATION 88 

CHRISTMAS  MORN 89 


QUIET  HOUR  THOUGHTS. 


QUIET  HOUR  THOUGHTS. 


DEDICATION. 

A  fresh  bouquet  I  bind  for  thee  — 
Not  rare  nor  gorgeous  flowers, 

But  thoughts  that  blossomed  in  my  heart, 
And  filled  its  quiet  hours. 

And  they  are  like  arbutus  vines 

That  underneath  the  snow 
Hide  bloom  and  fragrance  in  such  nooks 

As  only  love  may  know. 

But  if  perchance  you  find  a  rose 

Full  blossomed  in  the  sun, 
Unconsciously  it  woke  to  life, 

Nor  knew  what  it  had  done. 

But  take  them,  darling,  with  my  love ; 

And  may  these  heart-born  flowers, 
All  unpretending  though  they  be, 

Make  bright  some  lonely  hours ! 


MY  LOVE. 

Should  I  bring  thee  all  that,  my  hands  could  hold 
Of  gems  most  precious,  of  silver  and  gold, 
What  could  they  tell  of  the  love  that  glows 

Deep  down  in  my  happy  heart, 
Like  the  perfume  hid  in  the  heart  of  the  rose, 

That  is  of  the  rose  a  part ! 

My  heart  is  the  casket,  my  lips  the  lid 
That  shut  so  tight  o'er  the  treasure  hid, 
They  will  only  in  part  the  love  disclose 

That  rests  in  my  happy  heart, 
Like  the  perfume  exhaled  from  the  heart  of  a  rose, 

That  is  of  its  life  a  part. 

No  gifts  can  show,  and  no  words  can  say 
The  depths  of  this  love  that  will  live  alway, 
Giving  wonderful  sweetness  that  daily  grows, 

And  brightens  my  happy  heart ; 
Like  the  perfume  undying  within  the  rose, 

It  is  of  my  life  a  part. 


FLOWERS  IN  WINTER. 

Sweet  friend,  whose  generous,  loving  hand 

Has  sent  these  flowers  to  me, 
Gathered,  methinks,  from  every  land 

That  borders  every  sea, 
I  thank  you  with  a  heart  brimmed  o'er, 
So  full  that  it  can  hold  no  more. 

Sweet  flowers !  you  are  not  what  you  seem, 

For  each  is  like  a  friend, 
A  living  form,  or  blessed  dream 

Of  love  that  knows  no  end ; 
I  look  to  see  a  throbbing  heart 
Within  your  petals  as  they  part. 

For  some  are  like  my  darling's  eyes, 

So  pure,  so  deep,  so  true ; 
And  some  are  like  the  summer  skies 

Of  softest,  tenderest  blue ; 
While  all  seem  much  too  bright  and  fair 
To  blossom  in  earth's  chilling  air. 

Your  inmost  thoughts  I  long  to  reach, 

So  human  seems  your  gaze, 
Like  children  who  have  lost  their  speech 

And  stand  in  strange  amaze, 
And  look  with  mute,  yet  sweet  surprise 
In  answer  to  my  loving  eyes. 
9 


You  came  in  childhood's  happy  morn, 

Fresh  from  the  heavenly  ways, 
Where  purity  and  love  are  born ; 

And  in  life's  autumn  days 
You  come  to  teach  me  love's  sweet  strain, 
And  woo  me  back  to  youth  again. 

And  why  you  droop,  and  why  you  die, 

I  ask,  with  sad  refrain ; 
And  why  our  darlings  silent  lie, 

And  why  love  brings  us  pain  ? 
God  knows !  And  when  we  pluck  His  flowers 
Shall  we  not  trust  His  love  with  ours  ? 


10 


A  LULLABY. 

Sleep,  little  one,  sleep ! 
The  sun  has  sunk  low  in  his  cradle  to  rest, 
The  sleepy  birds  flutter  to  each  downy  nest, 
The  drowsy  flowers  nod  over  Mother  Earth's  breast : 

Sleep,  ray  little  one,  sleep  ! 

Sleep,  little  one,  sleep ! 
And  Mother  will  sing  to  you  softly  and  low 
Of  the  sweet  Mother-love  that  enfoldeth  you  so, 
While  summer  winds  come,  and  winter  winds  go  : 

Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep ! 

Sleep,  little  one,  sleep ! 

Some  day  you  will  long  for  the  soft  Mother-hands, 
For  love  that  the  dear  God  alone  understands ; 
But  now  we  will  travel  to  Happy  Dream  Lands  : 

Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep ! 

Sleep,  little  one,  sleep  ! 

Draw  close  the  soft  curtains  down  over  sweet  eyes, 
And  nestle  the  dear  head  where  Mother-love  lies — 
The  love  that  through  good  or  through  ill  never  dies 

Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep  ! 


11 


"LONG  YEARS  AGO." 

Long  years  ago,  long  years  ago ! 

How  round  our  hearts  will  throng, 
With  those  sad  words,  sweet  memories 

That  have  been  buried  long  : 
The  vanished  hopes  of  early  days, 

The  joys  of  life's  first  years, 
The  merry  laughter,  fresh  and  free, 

The  fleeting  dewdrop  tears ; 
The  glad  light  kindles  in  our  eyes, 

And  in  our  hearts  the  glow, 
"When  memory  brings  again  the  joys 

That  died  long  years  ago. 

We  clasp  once  more  the  little  hands 

That  lay  so  warm  in  ours, 
And  wander  forth  with  laugh  and  song 

To  revel  in  the  flowers ; 
We  see  again  the  same  kind  eyes 

That  made  our  path  so  bright, 
Forgetting  that  the  hurrying  years 

Have  shut  them  from  our  sight  — 
Forgetting  that  the  summer  flowers, 

And  yet  the  winter  snow, 
Were  pressed  upon  the  forms  we  loved, 

Alas  !  long  years  ago. 
12 


Long  years  ago,  long  years  ago, 

Those  precious  links  were  riven 
That  took  our  hopes  away  from  earth 

And  drew  them  nearer  heaven ; 
Our  childish  fancy  never  placed 

Their  home  so  far  away, 
But  on  some  high  and  sun-crowned  hill 

The  golden  entrance  lay ; 
And  we  have  roamed  for  many  years, 

But  yet  how  very  slow ! 
For  still  we  seem  no  nearer  heaven 

Than  then,  long  years  ago. 


13 


TRUE  LOVE. 

True  love  is  boundless  as  the  arch  of  heaven 

That  spans  this  world  of  care, 
And  yields  to  whom  its  precious  wealth  is  given 

A  heritage  most  fair ; 
That  reaches  from  the  holy  hush  of  even 

Down  through  the  pearly  rain, 
And  morning  song  that  to  each  day  is  given, 

Then  up  to  dusk  again ; 
An  ever- widening  circle,  brighter  growing, 

More  holy,  pure,  and  sweet, 
Till  in  the  radiance  of  God's  beauty  glowing, 

Its  joy  is  made  complete. 

And  you,  dear  heart,  have  poured  this  love 
unceasing 

Into  my  happy  life, 
With  every  year  and  every  day  increasing, 

Since  first  you  called  me  wife  ; 
And  though  some  clouds  have  come,  their 
shadows  winging 

Across  our  changeful  ways, 
Yet  has  my  heart  gone  softly  singing,  singing 

Through  bright  or  darkened  days, 
Because  I  knew  your  love  would  fail  me  never 

Till  death  and  time  are  done  j 
Then  still  grow  brighter  through  God's  vast 
forever, 

Where  life  and  love  are  one. 


14 


NOT  DEAD,  BUT  SLEEPING. 

Your  darling  is  not  dead,  but  only  sleeping 

Within  another  room, 
Where  Christ  a  watch  of  tender  love  is  keeping, 

Dispelling  all  the  gloom. 

Your  Father's  hand  has  locked  the  door  of  silence, 

That  she  may  sweetly  rest ; 

And  though  your  love,  with  tears,  would  doubt  and 
question, 

He  knows,  and  does  the  best. 

And  by  and  by  His  hand  the  door  will  open, 

That  you  may  find  her  there, 
Sweet  as  when  wakened  from  refreshing  slumber, 

But  grown  surpassing  fair : 

The  beauty  of  her  happy  childhood  keeping, 

Yet  with  the  added  grace 
Of  love  divine,  that  knows  nor  death  nor  sleeping, 

Transfiguring  her  face. 


15 


"LET  ME  SLEEP." 

"  Let  me  sleep ! "  the  baby  murmured ; 

So  we  watched  with  hushed  delight 
While  the  blue  eyes  slow  retreated 

Underneath  their  curtains  white ; 
Then  we  fancied  angel  fingers 

Gently  touched  her  form  and  face, 
Softening  every  curve  and  dimple 

Into  more  angelic  grace. 

"  Let  me  sleep ! "  a  maiden  whispered ; 
"  I  have  met  with  Love  to-day, 
And  no  storms  shall  ever  chill  me, 

And  no  cares  obstruct  my  way ; 
For  his  love  will  close  enfold  me, 

All  his  life  to  me  is  given ; 
Let  me  sleep  and  dream  it  over  — 

Heaven  is  love,  and  love  is  heaven." 

"  Let  me  sleep ! "  with  bitter  wailing, 

Burst  from  out  a  broken  heart ; 
"  With  earth's  brightness,  with  earth's  beauty, 

I  no  longer  bear  a  part. 
I  have  been  a  wife  and  mother, 

All  my  path  with  joys  was  set ; 
Now  a  tempest  has  destroyed  them  — 
Let  me  sleep,  and  so  forget." 
16 


"  Let  me  sleep  ! "    An  aged  woman 

Sought  for  rest  with  tottering  feet. 
"  Life  has  been  so  long  a  burden, 

Rest  with  Thee  will  be  so  sweet ; 
Thou  hast  taken  all  my  loved  ones 

Long  ago  to  rest  with  Thee ; 
Take  me,  oh,  my  Saviour,  take  me 
Where  Thou  keep'st  them  safe  for  me." 

"  Let  me  sleep ! "    Oh,  loving  Saviour, 

Hear  the  cry  from  hearts  that  bleed ; 
Thou  who  knowest  all  our  weakness, 

Knowest  also  all  our  need ; 
Thou  who  art  a  faithful  Shepherd, 

All  Thy  flock  can  safely  keep, 
And  when  flesh  and  spirit  faileth 

Give  Thine  own  beloved  sleep. 


17 


BLIND  BARTIMEUS. 

Near  Jericho's  fair  city, 

At  the  close  of  a  summer  day, 
Blind  Bartimeus,  son  of  Timeus, 

Sat  by  the  dusty  way ; 
And  the  stoniest  heart  was  softened 

As  he  lifted  his  sightless  eyes 
To  the  blue  hills  of  Judea, 

Crowned  with  her  matchless  skies. 

And  the  neighbors  paused  a  moment, 

With  pitying  look  or  word, 
As  they  thought  of  their  bright-eyed  children 

But  one,  whose  heart  was  stirred 
With  more  than  pitying  kindness, 

Stopped  on  his  homeward  way, 
And  sat  by  the  side  of  the  beggar 

To  tell  him  the  news  of  the  day. 

How  men  and  women  were  talking 

Of  a  wonderful  Nazarene, 
A  man  of  humble  lineage, 

Of  meek  and  lowly  mien. 
"  And  His  followers  are  the  poorest, 

Bartimeus,  such  as  we  — 
Laborers  from  the  vineyards, 

And  fishermen  from  the  sea. 

18 


"  They  say  that  He  teacheth  the  simple, 

That  He  loveth  the  children  to  bless, 
That  He  even  healeth  the  sick  folk 

As  the  multitude  throng  and  press ; 
And  each  word  as  a  gem  most  precious, 

As  it  falls  from  His  lips,  is  caught ; 
And  some  venture  to  say  't  is  Messiah 

By  whom  they  are  healed  and  taught." 

"  Ah,  yes !  "  interrupts  Bartimeus, 
"  He  may  teach  the  ignorant  mind, 
He  may  help  the  sick  and  the  weary ; 
Can  He  open  the  eyes  of  the  blind  ? 
Can  He  bring  again  the  grandeur 

Of  Judea's  hills  to  mine  eyes, 
Crowned  with  the  blue  and  the  purple 
Of  her  overarching  skies  I 

"  And  the  beautiful  plains  beneath  them, 

Stretching  so  far  before, 
With  the  lilies  their  bright  cups  lifting 

To  my  happy  eyes  once  more  ?  " 
Hark !  there  's  a  sound  of  voices, 

And  the  tramp  of  many  feet, 
Heavy,  of  men  and  women, 

And  pattering  of  children  sweet. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Bartimeus  wonders ; 

"  'T  is  the  Teacher  of  Galilee ! " 
"  Oh,  Jesus,  thou,Son  of  David ! " 

He  crieth,  "  have  mercy  on  me ! " 
But  the  multitude  answer,  not  coldly, 
"  Our  Teacher  is  always  kind ; 
But  who  ever  heard  of  a  mortal 
Who  could  open  the  eyes  of  the  blind  ! 
19 


But  louder  he  calleth  to  Jesus, 
"  Son  of  David,  have  mercy  on  me ! " 
"  Be  of  good  cheer,  Bartimeus. 

Else,  for  He  calleth  to  thee." 
Then  quickly  the  hills  bend  downward 

To  meet  his  wondering  eyes, 
While  closely  above  and  around  him 

Seem  pressing  the  radiant  skies. 

And  the  beautiful  plains  of  Judea 

Stretch  onward  whole  leagues  before, 
Uplifting  their  golden  lilies 

To  his  wondering  eyes  once  more ; 
But  lost  to  him  are  their  grandeur, 

Their  beauty,  and  their  grace, 
For  his  opened  eyes  see  only 

The  love  in  the  Master's  face. 

And  throwing  his  garment  from  him, 

He  joins  in  the  surging  tide, 
Only  pressing  more  closely 

Than  any,  the  Master's  side ; 
For  surely  He  is  the  Messiah  ! 

Did  He  not  heed  his  call  ? 
And  giving  him  sight  and  freedom, 

Has  He  not  given  him  all  ? 

Oh,  Saviour !  teach  us  this  lesson, 

To  cast  away  doubts  and  fears, 
And  come  to  Thee,  though  in  our  blindness 

We  see  Thee  only  through  tears ; 
Though  the  world  may  entice  with  its  grandeur, 

Its  loveliness,  or  its  grace, 
Over  all,  and  through  all,  to  see  only 

The  love  divine  in  Thy  face. 
20 


FOREVER  ONE. 

"  Till  death  us  part "  —  not  so  !  not  so ! 

Death  cannot  part  us  twain. 
What  God  has  joined  for  weal  or  woe, 
Nought  can  divide  again. 

What  though  Death's  shadow  rolls  between 
Your  clasping  hand  and  mine, 

Yet  each  shall  meet  and  rest  unseen 
In  one  that  is  divine ! 

Till  death  unites  —  ah,  blessed  thought 
That  sweetens  bitterest  pain ! 

Then  all  the  sorrow  death  has  wrought 
Shall  turn  to  bliss  again. 

If  one  must  wait  a  little  space 

While  one  goes  on  before, 
Yet  God  is  good,  and  God's  sweet  grace 
Will  bring  us  surely  face  to  face, 

And  part  us  nevermore. 


21 


SWEET  MAID  MARIAN. 

Oh,  our  sweet  maid  Marian  ! 

How  we  loved  the  child 
As  she  grew  to  womanhood, 

Pure  and  undefiled ! 
While  her  beauty  ripened 

Swiftly,  year  by  year, 
In  her  glowing  future 

What  had  we  to  fear  ? 

Yet  the  fairest  fruitage 

May  be  touched  by  frost, 
And  the  sweetest  lily 

Chilled  and  tempest-tossed ; 
So  we  sometimes  trembled 

Lest  the  years  might  bring 
To  our  cherished  treasure 

Some  unlovely  thing. 

If  you  sent  your  darling, 

With  your  dearest  friend, 
Where  the  skies  of  Orient 

Over  her  might  bend, 
Where  the  old  world  pictures 

'Neath  Italia's  skies 
Should  be  living  glories 

To  her  wondering  eyes; 
22 


Though  you  sent  her  gladly, 
,  Masking  all  your  fears, 
With  a  smile  that  covered 

Many  unshed  tears ; 
Yet  your  heart  would  follow 

O'er  the  ocean  wide, 
With  an  anxious  trembling 

Lest  some  woe  betide. 

Lest  beside  her  pathway 

Lurk  some  unseen  foe ; 
Or  some  baleful  shadow 

Fill  her  life  with  woe ; 
Lest  the  friend  you  trusted 

With  your  treasure  fail ; 
Oh,  what  nameless  terrors 

Would  your  heart  assail ! 

Oh,  our  sweet  maid  Marian ! 

Still  we  love  the  child ; 
Still  her  beauty  ripens 

Pure  and  undeflled ; 
Through  a  new  world's  portals 

She  has  passed  away 
To  the  bliss  eternal 

Of  unshadowed  day. 

Not  for  her  our  doubtings 

What  life  holds  in  store  ; 
She  is  home  embosomed, 

Safe  f orevermore 
Where  no  pang  nor  sorrow 

Can  her  life  assail, 
For  the  Friend  who  guides  her 

Cannot  faint  nor  fail.    . 
23 


"COME  UNTO  ME." 

"  Come  unto  Me,"  the  gentle  Shepherd  calls ; 
Sweeter  than  song  of  bird  His  message  falls. 

"  Come  unto  Me,  ye  weary  wandering  sheep ; 
Why  will  ye  by  the  barren  wayside  keep  ? 
Beyond,  where  I  shall  lead,  the  skies  are  fair, 
The  pastures  teem  with  herbage  rich  and  rare ; 
There  lurks  no  foe  from  whom  ye  fain  would  flee, 
For  I  am  there,  and  all  are  safe  with  me." 

Pausing  a  moment  in  its  careless  play, 
A  child  makes  answer,  "  Come  some  other  day, 
For  see  how  bright  the  flowers  bloom  round  me  now, 
No  clouds  are  threatening  on  the  mountain's  brow ; 
I  cannot  leave  my  playmates  and  my  play, 
Nor  will  they  try  with  me  this  unknown  way ; 
But  when  some  danger  dread  and  near  I  see, 
Come,  call  me  then,  and  I  will  go  with  Thee." 

"  Come  unto  Me,"  again  the  Shepherd  calls ; 

Like  dew  on  thirsty  flowers  His  message  falls. 
"  Why  seek  ye  pleasures  that  shall  gird  ye  round 

With  bands  that  kill  ere  they  can  be  unbound  ? 

Why  drink  from  fountains  that  will  make  your  thirst 

Greater  than  that  with  which  you  sought  them  first  ? 

Why  fill  your  life  with  cares  that  shall  increase  ? 

Come,  follow  Me  to  endless  life  and  peace." 

24 


The  careless  child,  now  grown  to  man's  estate, 
Is  careless  still,  and  trusts  alone  to  fate ; 
He  hears  the  warning  voice,  the  pleading  tone, 
But  will  not  bid  earth's  pleasures  yet  begone, 
And  answers  quickly,  "  No,  I  may  not  go ; 
I  love  so  well  this  ever-changing  show 
Of  power  and  beauty,  pomp  and  worldly  state, 
But  I  mil  leave  them  ere  it  be  too  late." 

"  Come  unto  Me,"  once  more  the  Shepherd  calls ; 

Like  wine  on  parched  lips  his  message  falls. 
"  Come  unto  Me,  nor  stay  to  gather  gold, 

When  I  have  wealth  no  tongue  has  ever  told. 

To-day,  if  you  will  hear,  and  harden  not  your  heart, 

Come  share  my  love,  and  in  my  home  have  part ; 

Let  but  these  few  short  days  of  earth  be  Mine, 

Eternal  life,  and  all  I  have,  is  thine." 

The  old  man  hears  the  sweet  words  as  they  flow 
Like  some  old  song  forgotten  long  ago  — 
Some  prayer  with  mother's  hand  upon  his  brow, 
Unsaid  so  long,  't  is  past  recalling  nowj 
And  as  the  Shepherd  sadly  seems  to  wait, 
He  coldly  murmurs,  "  No,  it  is  too  late ! " 
While  farther  on  the  sweet  voice  seems  to  flow, 
Nor  brings  to  his  dead  heart  one  answering  glow. 

"  Come  unto  Me,"  the  patient  Shepherd  calls ; 
Sweeter  than  angel  songs  his  message  falls, 
Not  on  his  ear,  who  sighs,  "  Alas,  too  late ! " 
Nor  strives  to  enter  in  the  pearly  gate ; 
But  unto  you,  my  darling  boy  and  girl, 
Whose  feet  not  yet  have  touched  life's  busy  whirl ; 
Oh,  heed  His  kindly  call  without  delay, 
And  by  His  side  press  up  the  narrow  way. 
4  25 


What  though  it  leads  through  weariness  and  pain, 
Hold  fast  His  hand,  and  He  will  make  it  plain ; 
His  arm  shall  be  your  shield  when  foes  assail ; 
His  love  be  true  when  earthly  friendships  fail ; 
His  lips  speak  peace  when  storms  and  tempests  rise, 
And  angry  clouds  obscure  the  far-off  skies ; 
His  hand  shall  safely  lead  where  troubles  cease, 
Within  that  fold  where  all  is  love  and  peace. 


THE  WONDERFUL  BALL. 

All  through  the  sorrowful  days  of  Lent 
A  subtle  something  seemed  to  be  blent 
With  the  solemn  prayers,  like  an  undertone 
Of  happy  laughter,  piercing  the  moan 
Of  heart-sick  souls  for  sins  un shriven  ; 
But  what  meant  the  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
And  what  the  unusual  bustle  and  glow 

Among  men  and  women,  both  young  and  old  ? 
Surely  none  in  society  need  be  told 
That  as  soon  as  Lent  was  over  and  gone, 
And  repentant  souls  had  made  their  moan, 
The  elite  of  the  town  would  blossom  out 
In  wonderful  clothes  for  a  wonderful  rout. 

At  last  came  the  night  of  the  long-looked-for  ball, 
And  the  beautiful  mansion  was  all  aglow 
From  the  spacious  central  hall  below 

To  the  topmost  height  of  the  turrets  tall. 

And  such  a  procession  came  gliding  in 

As  never  together  before  was  seen : 

Figures  from  out  of  the  dusky  Past, 
Whose  witcheries  cast  a  glamour  still 

Over  the  senses,  and  hold  them  fast 
With  a  feeling  the  Present  can  never  fill. 
27 


Lords  and  ladies  of  high  degree, 
Peasants  and  milkmaids  charming  to  see, 
But  a  little  mixed,  as  you  '11  all  agree ; 

For  if  in  real  life  they  were  jumbled  so, 

My  lord  on  his  aristocratic  toe 

Would  turn  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  you  know, 
So  that  only  his  stately  back  could  be  seen 
By  the  low-born  maid  of  the  humble  mien. 

But  here  all  are  equal,  and  equally  met ; 

No  lines  of  distinction,  no  bounds  are  set, 
From  the  high-stepping  princess  with  jewelled  snood, 
To  the  quaint  Dutch  maiden  with  crumpled  hood ; 

But  yet 't  is  a  little  strange  to  see 

My  lady  of  astounding  pedigree 

With  a  cunning  devil  for  vis-a-vis. 

Lo !  here  is  a  face  with  a  sunny  glow, 

But  night  has  been  surely  robbed  of  her  queen, 

And  the  stars  have  given  their  silver  sheen 
To  bedeck  her  floating  garments  so. 

Here  birds  whose  plumage  is  gay  to  see 

Hobnob  with  the  cat,  their  enemy ; 
And  wasp  and  hornet  flit  in  and  out, 

Airily  spreading  their  gauzy  wings ; 
But  we  feel  no  fear  as  they  circle  about, 

For  their  honeyed  lips  hold  no  hidden  stings. 
Many  a  king  who  has  laid  aside 
Long  years  ago  his  pomp  and  pride, 

Appears  to  us  here  for  a  little  space 

To  hold  mimic  court,  and  be  called  "  Your  Grace  " ; 
Many  a  queen  who,  except  in  song, 
From  this  turbulent  life  has  been  banished  long, 
Trails  her  gorgeous  robes  through  this  glittering 
throng. 

28 


But  alas !  for  the  fading  of  scenes  so  bright, 
And  alas  !  that  the  morning  must  follow  the  night, 

And  bright-eyed  daylight  come  peering  in 

Ere  the  last  of  the  merriment  ceases  its  din ; 
But  what  a  complete  satisfaction  to  know 

That  everything  was  a  grand  success, 
A  glorious  pageant,  a  glittering  show, 

A  marvelous  gathering  of  fashion  and  dress, 
Of  flowers  and  jewels  beyond  compare, 
For  wealth  may  revel  in  everything  rare. 

But  the  sweetest  thought  most  tenderly  pressed 
To  the  heart  of  every  departing  guest 

Was  the  knowledge,  so  far  as  one  was  aware, 

That  only  the  most  select  were  there, 
Culled  from  the  crowded  city  out, 
With  a  few  from  the  country  round  about. 

These  entered,  unchallenged,  the  magic  door ; 

These  worthily  crossed  the  threshold  o'er, 
Who  showily  carried  a  golden  key, 
Or  boasted  a  long-lined  pedigree. 
Yet  I  hear  of  a  few  poor,  mistaken  mortals  — 

Unfortunate  few !  —  who  were  never  invited 
To  cross  with  proud  steps  those  beautiful  portals, 

Yet  have  not  a  thought  that  they  have  been  slighted ; 
But  go  on  their  way  with  an  every-day  grace, 
Looking  fortune  and  favor  serene  in  the  face, 

Not  lacking  in  wisdom,  not  unknown  to  fame, 

But,  sad  to  relate,  not  the  "  creme  de  la  creme  " ! 


29 


TO  MY  FRIEND  WHO  BROKE  HER  LEG. 

Have  you  ever  read  of  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
Who  strutted  about  on  a  golden  leg, 

Because  she  had  lost  her  own ! 
And  seeing  ?t  was  such  a  costly  thing, 
She  thought  it  worthy  for  poets  to  sing, 

Much  better  than  flesh  and  bone. 

And  then,  with  her  leg  for  a  bait,  she  sought 
For  better  fish  than  ever  was  caught, 

And  found  but  a  selfish  fool, 
Who  proved  himself,  not  a  "  better  half," 
For  he  only  worshipped  her  golden  calf, 

While  she  thought  him  her  slave  and  tool. 

How  little  she  knew  of  his  greed  and  sin  ! 
How  she  rued  the  day  when  she  took  Mm  in  ! 

This  wickedest  type  of  men  ! 
Alas,  for  the  fate  of  Miss  Kilmansegg ! 
He  murdered  her  for  her  golden  leg, 

And  what  good  did  it  do  her  then  ? 

Now  I  don't  think  it  wise  to  moralize  much 
To  a  body  who  's  flat  on  her  back,  and  a  touch 

Will  make  her  shiver  and  squirm ; 
I  would  only  suggest  in  this  simple  way 
That  you  keep  your  own  leg,  and  some  lucky  day 

You  will  find  it  strong  and  firm. 
30 


And  you  do  not  need,  like  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
To  buy  a  mate  with  a  golden  leg, 

For  you  have  a  man  of  your  own, 
Who,  rather  than  bow  to  a  golden  calf, 
Would  kiss  your  big  toe  (now  don't  you  laugh  ! ), 

So  't  was  fashioned  of  flesh  and  bone. 

Then  be  patient,  my  dear,  for  a  few  days  more, 
Though  your  leg  may  ache,  and  your  back  be  sore, 

And  the  time  drag  heavy  and  slow ; 
For  there  's  always  a  harder  lot  than  your  own, 
Which  some  poor  mortal  must  bear  alone, 
And  yours  might  be  worse  than  a  broken  bone, 

As  Miss  Kilmansegg's  fate  will  show. 


31 


A  TIN  WEDDING  ANNIVERSARY. 

If  I  had  but  the  pen  and  the  wit  of  a  Holmes, — 
Doctor  Oliver  "Wendell,  I  mean,  you  know, — 

I  would  fashion  iny  thoughts  into  graceful  poems, 
Full  of  hearty  words  that  should  gleam  and  glow 

With  sunshine  enough  to  efface  the  stain 

Of  this  saucy,  unwelcome  April  rain 
On  this,  your  Tin  Wedding  Day. 

But  though  my  Muse  is  not  of  the  kind 
That  warbles  with  ease  at  a  hint  or  a  touch, 

And  though  Oliver  Wendell's  prolific  mind 
Of  the  English  language  has  not  left  much 

For  feebler  singers  to  follow  and  glean, 

There  still  may  be  found  a  few  words,  I  ween, 
For  this,  your  Tin  Wedding  Day. 

May  you  never  know  more  of  trouble  or  care 

Than  bef alleth  your  household  to-day  j 
May  your  hearts  be  as  happy,  your  skies  as  fair, 

As  thus  far  on  your  flower-bordered  way ; 
Yet 't  were  useless  to  wish  for  you  none  of  earth's 

crosses, 

But  may  love  and  its  gifts  temper  all  of  your  losses, 
And  bless  each  recurring  Day. 
32 


May  you  make  many  friends,  and  keep  them  friends 
too, 

Not  butterflies  born  of  the  sun, 
But  friends  whose  devotion  will  still  be  as  true 

When  youth  and  your  bright  days  are  done  ; 
Then  when  you  look  back,  and  Life's  pages  unfold 
From  this  Tin  Wedding  Day  to  your  Wedding  of  Gold, 

May  each  one  be  a  Red  Letter  Day. 


A  VALENTINE. 

Look  at  me,  child,  with  your  bonny  blue  eyes, 

And  tell  me  a  story  sweet 
Of  the  strange  new  world  that  before  you  lies ; 
Has  it  cloudy  ways,  has  it  sunny  skies, 

Spreading  onward  before  your  feet  ? 

Be  good,  do  good  with  a  purpose  strong ; 

Then  no  matter  what  winds  may  blow, 
You  will  speed  the  right,  you  will  conquer  wrong, 
You  will  learn  that  no  shadows  can  linger  long 

Where  love  keeps  the  heart  aglow. 

And  love,  the  sweetest  and  purest,  I  pray, 

Be  your  guard  and  your  guide,  Baby  mine, 
To  keep  you,  enfold  you,  and  bless  you  alway, 
As  closely  and  surely  as  mine  does  to-day, 
And  would  ever,  my  sweet  Valentine ! 


34 


BY  FAITH. 

I  know  that  this  strange  life  of  ours 

Is  but  the  entrance  gate 
To  that  new  life  beyond  the  stars 

Where  beckoning  angels  wait ; 
But  right  and  wrong,  and  good  and  ill, 

So  closely  seem  allied, 
I  hesitate  which  road  to  take, 

Or  wherein  to  abide. 

But  could  I  walk  beside  my  Lord 

Along  life's  treacherous  way ; 
And  listen  to  the  gracious  words 

That  pass  His  lips  each  day  ; 
Could  I  but  see  His  loving  eyes, 

And  clasp  His  gentle  hand, 
Perchance  this  life's  bewildering  maze 

I  then  might  understand. 

And  where  I  falter  now  and  shrink, 
Nor  know  which  way  to  turn, 

His  clearer  sight  the  better  way 
Would  easily  discern  j 
35 


And  walking  in  the  clear-cut  path 

Made  by  His  firmer  feet, 
Self-love  would  be  forgotten  quite, 

And  duty  would  be  sweet. 

Ah  !  child,  the  soul  that  leans  upon 

Another's  strength  and  might, 
Will  never  reach  to  victory, 

Or  climb  the  mountain's  height ; 
The  purest  and  the  strongest  souls 

This  world  has  ever  known, 
Have  drunk  the  bitter  wine  of  life 

In  sorrow  and  alone. 

The  tenderest  parent  must  sometime 

Let  go  the  clinging  hand, 
That  so  the  little,  trembling  child 

May  learn  alone  to  stand  j 
The  path  of  safety  often  leads 

Through  shadows  of  the  night, 
Where  they  who  follow  Him  must  walk 

By  faith,  and  not  by  sight. 

The  many  failures  on  your  way 

O'er  which  you  truly  mourn, 
The  sore  temptations  overcome, 

The  trials  bravely  borne, 
Will  bring  the  strength  for  which  you  crave, 

The  peace  for  which  you  pray, 
Till  some  day  you  shall  know  His  hand 

Has  led  you  all  the  way. 


36 


ONE  DAY. 

Storm  and  sunshine  come  and  go ! 
Such  is  life !  now  joy,  now  woe ! 
Lightning  flashing,  thunder  pealing, 
Sheets  of  rain  the  light  concealing, 

And  the  heavens  are  like  a  pall. 
Peace !  the  clouds  are  northward  drifting ; 
Look !  the  heavy  veil  is  lifting, 

And  the  sunbeams  sift  through  all ; 
On  the  now  relenting  sky 
See  the  bow  of  promise  lie. 

Every  life  is  like  this  day ; 
Light  and  shade  contest  the  way ; 
Though  we  bend  the  fierce  storm  under, 
Yet  beyond  the  rolling  thunder 

May  we  hear  our  Father's  call ; 
And  though  woes  fall  dark  and  dreary, 
And  though  life  be  long  and  weary, 

God's  smile  shines  beyond  it  all ; 
Sweet  the  bow  of  promise  given, 
Circling  earth  and  reaching  heaven. 


37 


To  my  beloved  Rector,  on  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary 
of  his  ministry  in  St.  Thomas'  Church. 

"WELL   DONE!" 

Servant  true  of  the  living  God, 

Toiling  through  many  a  changing  year, 
Following  the  way  that  thy  Master  trod, 

Sometimes  with  gladness,  often  with  fear ; 
Faithfully  dropping  the  blessed  seed 

"Where  He  has  given  it  to  thy  hand, 
Whether  upon  the  dewy  mead, 

Whether  upon  the  parched  sand; 

Sometimes  seeing  the  glad  seed  spring 

Forth  into  leaf,  and  bud,  and  bloom  ; 
Often  watching  the  wild  thorns  cling, 

Giving  the  roots  nor  life,  nor  room ; 
Yet  with  a  faith  that  trusted  all 

Unto  His  care  who  marked  the  way, 
Thou  hast  but  followed  His  earnest  call, 

Patiently  working  day  by  day. 

Morning  of  life  is  thine  no  more ; 

Noontide  of  vigor  has  come  and  gone ; 
Still  doth  the  Master  walk  before, 

Bidding  thee  follow  faithfully  on ; 
What  though  the  shadows  of  evening  fall, 

Yet  has  He  work  for  thee  to  do, 
Hearest  thou  not  His  strong  voice  call, 
"  I  will  thy  failing  strength  renew  "  ? 

38 


Then  with  fresh  hope  press  steadily  on, 

Sowing  the  seed  that  His  love  has  blest ; 
Not  looking  back  to  the  years  long  gone, 

But  still  beyond  to  His  promised  rest ; 
Then  when  His  harvest  fields  are  white, 

All  from  the  deathly  Reaper  won, 
Clear  may'st  thou  stand  in  His  searching  sight, 

Hearing  His  blessing  of  praise : "  Well  Done ! " 


39 


OUR  FAITH. 

Though  infidels  may  laugh  to  scorn 

This  simple  faith  of  ours, 
That  sees  a  resurrection  morn 
In  every  little  flower  that 's  born 

In  earth's  glad  springtime  hours, — 

Yet  of  all  truths  that  I  have  learned 

This  seems  to  me  most  sweet, 
That  "  loved  ones  lost "  but  go  before, 
And  wait  upon  another  shore 
Our  lingering  steps  to  greet ; 

That  the  dear  forms  that  we  have  laid 

Reluctantly  away, 
The  little  buds  that  early  died, 
The  flowers  that  blossomed  at  our  side 

For  many  a  summer  day, 

When  earth's  short  seasons  all  are  o'er, 

Will  greet  our  wondering  eyes 
In  brighter  robes  than  here  they  wore, 
In  bloom  that  fadeth  nevermore, 
Beyond  these  wintry  skies. 
40 


And  partings  never  seem  so  sad, 

Nor  hopes  and  wishes  vain, 
Since  faith  may  reach  the  sinking  heart, 
And  whisper  there  that  though  we  part, 

'T  is  but  to  meet  again. 

Perhaps  not  in  this  shadowy  clime, 

Or  'neath  these  changing  skies, 
Where  clouds  shut  out  the  heaven  serene, 
Where  doubts  and  jealousies  between 
The  dearest  friends  arise ; 

But  surely  in  that  "  Better  Land  " 
Where  Christ,  His  love  to  prove, 
Stands  waiting  with  an  outstretched  hand 
To  guide  us  o'er  earth's  treacherous  strand, 
And  fold  us  in  His  love. 


41 


OUR  HOME. 

O  Thou,  whose  ever  watchful  care  enfolds 

All  earth  and  all  above, 

Keep  safe  from  harm  the  sweet  home-nest  that 
holds 

The  dear  ones  whom  I  love. 

But  why  should  I  with  selfish  love  or  fear 

Ask  only  this  of  Thee, 
While  other  homes  to  other  hearts  are  dear 

As  this  of  mine  to  me  ? 

Then  keep,  my  Father,  'neath  Thy  loving  eye 

And  in  Thy  guarding  hand, 
All  other  homes  in  peaceful  rest  that  lie 

Within  my  native  land. 

Yet  why  should  I,  with  selfish  love  or  fear, 

Ask  only  this  of  Thee ; 
While  other  lands  to  other  hearts  are  dear 

As  this  fair  land  to  me  ? 

Then  keep,  my  Father,  wheresoe'er  they  lie 

Upon  the  broad  earth's  breast, 
All  homes  beneath  Thy  watchful,  loving  eye, — 

And  mine  among  the  rest. 


42 


"GOD  KNOWS" 

I  have  but  one,  an  only  son : 

God  gave  him  in  my  youth  to  me ; 
And  sometimes  up  the  coming  years 

His  manhood's  way  I  long  to  see ; 
But  through  the  future's  heavy  veil 

No  light,  no  sign  can  I  descry, 
And,  baffled,  I  can  only  say, 

"  God  knows, —  not  I." 

From  all  the  suffering  of  the  way 

My  loving  heart  would  sure  recoil ; 
My  blinded  eyes  would  fail  to  see 

The  mountain-top  beyond  the  toil ; 
And  so  I  lead  him  step  by  step, 

Nor  strive  to  know  the  reason  why ; 
But  with  my  hand  in  God's,  I  pray, 

"Lead  Thou!  — not  I." 

Whether  among  earth's  noble  ones 

My  darling  boy  shall  write  his  name, 
Or  if  among  earth's  lowly  ones 

He  treads  a  path  unknown  to  fame, 
I  know  who  guards  with  loving  care, 

Sleeping  or  waking  'neath  His  eye ; 
And  so  I  say  with  childhood's  faith, 

"  God  knows, —  not  I." 
43 


And  if  his  path  be  rough  and  steep, 

Or  if  it  wends  through  bitter  pain, 
I  still  can  trust  the  love  that  leads 

Through  blood,  the  victory  to  gain ; 
The  richest  verdure  needs  the  clouds, 

The  brightest  gems  in  darkness  lie, 
So  I  can  trust  my  darling  where 

"  God  knows, —  not  I." 


44 


GOLDEN-ROD. 

Oh,  golden-rod  !  fair  golden-rod ! 
You  bravely  deck  the  barren  sod ! 

By  wayside  path,  or  crumbling  wall, 

You  stand  alone,  erect  and  tall, 
Or  cluster  many  a  nodding  plume, 
Or  lift  close  tufts  of  golden  bloom, 

And  varied  forms  of  beauty  show, 

That  only  they  who  love  you  know. 

Oh,  golden-rod !  bright  golden-rod ! 

You  brightly  gleam  and  gaily  nod 
O'er  barren  hills  and  thirsty  fields 
Whose  sullen  mold  scant  verdure  yields : 

Like  Love  who  will  her  beauty  take 

To  hide  all  faults  for  love's  sweet  sake, 
And  make  the  hearts  that  seem  so  cold 
Grow  warm  and  bright  with  love's  rich  gold. 

Oh,  you  were  fashioned,  golden-rod, 
Most  deftly  by  the  hand  of  God ; 

Then  are  you  surely  fit  to  grace 

Within  my  home  a  royal  place, 
Making  therein  the  shadowed  room 
Sunny  and  bright  with  golden  bloom, 

As  love  has  made  my  warm  heart  gay 

These  years  since  our  glad  wedding  day, 
Proving,  though  all  things  else  grow  old, 
Love  dieth  not,  nor  groweth  cold. 


45 


OUR  SILVER  WEDDING  DAY. 

One  day  —  it  seems  the  shortest  time!  — 

When  love  and  I  were  young, 
And  light  and  beauty  'round  our  way 

With  every  thought  was  flung, 
We  started  forth  with  highest  hopes, 

Unheeding  wind  or  weather  — 
My  love  and  I,  clasped  hand  in  hand, 

To  try  our  lot  together. 
Some  friends  there  were  to  bid  us  hope 

That  life  would  be  all  sweetness, 
Well  rounded  out  from  flower  to  fruit, 

Both  perfect  in  completeness ; 
While  others  croaked  of  care  and  toil 

To  work  our  love's  decay ; 
But  what  cared  we  for  prophecies  — 

It  was  our  wedding  day ! 

Why  should  we  number  the  years  that  are  lying 

This  side  of  that  day  of  bliss? 
They  seem  but  one  day,  upon  fleetest  wings  flying, 

One  sky  arched  from  that  day  to  this. 

Love  is  the  charm  that  has  bound  us  together, 
Close,  and  still  closer,  with  years ; 

Laughing  at  time,  defying  all  weather, 
Undimmed  by  the  bitterest  tears. 
46 


What  were  life  worth,  with  its  hard  lines  of  duty 
Pressing  all  bright  joys  above  — 

What  were  life  worth,  although  glowing  with  beauty, 
Yet  missing  the  sweet  flower  of  love ! 

Seeming  so  many,  how  soon  they  Ve  passed  over  — 

These  happiest  years  of  my  life ! 
And  still  I  cling  close  to  you,  Husband  and  Lover, 

And  still  I  'm  your  own  "  Sweet  Wife." 

And  could  I  backward  trace  my  steps 

Beyond  that  happy  day,  • 
And  choose  among  the  flowery  paths 

That  bordered  all  my  way, 
No  heart  more  firm  to  lean  upon, 

And  trust,  could  I  discover  — 
No  warmer  hand-clasp  than  my  son's, 

And  yours,  my  Husband-lover ; 
My  ear  would  turn  with  eager  haste 

To  catch  the  earnest  voices 
That  thrill  me  through  and  through  with  words 

O'er  which  my  heart  rejoices ; 
And  I  would  choose  the  same  warm  hand 

To  clasp  mine  own  through  life, 
And  follow  gladly  lips  that  call 

"  Dear  Mother  "  and  "  Sweet  Wife." 


47 


"IN  THE  MORNING  SOW  THY  SEED." 

Sow,  ere  the  evening  falls, 

The  seed  within  thy  hand, 
Along  the  furrows  at  thy  feet, 

Or  broadcast  o'er  the  land. 

Sow  heartfelt  deeds  and  prayers, 
Nor  question  where  they  lie, 

Assured  that  not  the  smallest  one 
Escapes  the  Master's  eye. 

Sow  with  no  selfish  aim, 
For  soon  the  time  will  come 

When  He  who  sifts  the  chaff  from  wheat 
Will  call  His  harvest  home. 

Sow  all  in  faith  and  love ; 

Though  late  the  gleaning  be, 
How  sweet  to  hear  Him  say  at  last, 

"Ye  did  it  unto  Me"! 


48 


TO-MORROW. 

My  heart  is  overflowing  with  gladness  to-day, 

But  how  will  it  be  to-morrow  ? 
A  song  of  joy,  and  a  sunny  ray, 

Or  a  cup  of  bitter  sorrow  ? 

My  darlings  are  gathered  around  me  to-day    ; 

Oh,  where  will  they  be  to-morrow  ? 
But  why  should  I  look  for  a  shadowed  way, 

Or  why  should  I  trouble  borrow  ? 

The  strength  that  I  have  is  not  my  own, 

Except  as  I  lean  in  meekness 
On  Him  who  would  not  that  I  walk  alone, 

Who  strengthened  all  my  weakness. 

And  so,  if  my  darlings  thither  roam, 

Or  if  in  my  arms  I  gather 
My  loved  ones  all  in  the  nest  at  home, 

I  will  lean  on  my  loving  Father ; 

And  know  that  He  sees  all  the  way  beyond 
Where  my  blinded  eyes  are  groping, 

Where  my  heart,  too  foolish  perhaps,  and  fond, 
Would  faint  with  its  fearing  and  hoping. 

And  so  if  the  day  that  I  look  for  come 

Full  laden  with  joy  or  sorrow, 
I  '11  trust  to  my  Father  to  bring  me  home, 

With  my  darlings,  some  bright  to-morrow. 


"ROOM,  MOTHER  EARTH!" 

Room,  Mother  Earth,  upon  thine  ample  breast ! 
A  little  child,  a  broken  bud,  has  come  with  thee  to  rest; 
The  drooping  lids  are  folded  now  above  the  sparkling 

eyes 
That  looked  not  often  down  to  thee,  but  oftener  on 

the  skies ; 
The  warbling  voice  that  to  our  hearts  made  music 

all  day  long 
Has  sung  no  more  since  first  we  heard  the  blue-bird's 

early  song ; 
Then  'neath  the  first  sweet  grass  of  spring  we  '11  lay 

her  down  to  rest ; 
Room,  Mother  Earth,  our  broken  bud  would  lie  upon 

thy  breast. 

Room,  Mother  Earth,  upon  thine  ample  breast ! 
A  maiden  fair,  a  blighted  flower,  has  come  with  thee 

to  rest ; 
The  slender  heart-strings  that  were  swept  so  gently 

by  love's  tone, 
Lie  crushed  and  broken  'neath  a  grasp  whence  love's 

soft  touch  hath  gone. 
Where  sighing  winds  and  singing  birds  may  o'er  her 

vigils  keep, 
Perchance  our  broken-hearted  one  may  calmly, 

sweetly  sleep ; 

50 


Then  'neath  the  summer  blossoms  we  will  lay  her 

down  to  rest ; 
Room,  Mother  Earth,  our  blighted  flow'r  would  lie 

upon  thy  breast. 

Room,  Mother  Earth,  upon  thine  ample  breast ! 
A  manly  form,  a  fallen  leaf,  has  come  with  thee  to 

rest; 
The  powerless  arm  that  erst  was  strong  to  battle  in 

the  strife, 
Can  wield  no  more  its  mighty  strength  amid  the 

storms  of  life ; 
The  tenement  is  cold  and  still  from  whence  great 

thoughts  found  way 
To  stir  the  souls  of  other  men  beneath  their  powerful 

sway; 
Then,  'neath  bright  autumn's  drifting  leaves  we  '11 

lay  him  down  to  rest ; 
Room,  Mother  Earth,  the  fallen  leaf  would  lie  upon 

thy  breast. 

Room,  Mother  Earth,  upon  thine  ample  breast ! 
A  wasted  one,  an  aged  tree,  has  come  with  thee  to 

rest; 
A  marble  hand  has  rested  long  upon  his  furrowed 

brow, 
And  earthly  hopes  and  high  resolves  are  all  forgotten 

now; 
The  chilling  winds  have  rudely  swept  around  this 

aged  form, 
And  silently,  yet  patiently,  he  's  bowed  him  to  the 

storm ; 


51 


Then  under  winter's  mound  of  snow  we  '11  lay  him 

down  to  rest ; 
Room,  Mother  Earth,  the  aged  tree  would  lie  upon 

thy  breast. 

Room,  Mother  Earth,  upon  thine  ample  breast ! 

Still,  still  our  loved  and  cherished  ones  would  come 
with  thee  to  rest ; 

We  clasp  them  closely,  one  by  one,  within  our  warm 
embrace, 

But  thou  canst  find  for  all  alike  a  welcome  resting- 
place. 

The  spring  buds  burst,  the  flowers  bloom,  the  leaves 
of  autumn  fall ; 

And  winter  snows  in  calmness  lie  alike  above  them 
all; 

But  still  the  cry  comes  forth  to  thee,  "  Oh,  give  an 
other  rest " ; 

Room,  Mother  Earth,  our  weary  ones  would  lie  upon 
thy  breast. 


52 


DAISIES. 

How  glad  am  I  that  daisies  grow 

By  every  dusty  way, 
Making  a  poem  bright  and  fresh, 

For  each  tired  summer  day ; 

And  that  your  thoughtful  kindness  stooped 
To  pluck  these  common  flowers, 

And  send  them  bound  with  nodding  grass 
To  brighten  passing  hours ! 

I  called  them  common  —  God  forgive  ! 

Touched  by  His  hand  divine, 
Has  He  not  raised  them,  like  the  stars, 

Beyond  all  praise  of  mine  ? 


ONLY. 

Only  a  few  words  softly  spoken, 

But  with  such  true  love  filled 
They  entered  a  heart  that  was  almost  broken, 

And  its  wild  fever  stilled. 

Only  a  smile  that  beamed  and  brightened 

Over  the  dearest  face, 
But  it  touched  a  soul  that  was  sad  and  frightened, 

And  blessed  it  with  tender  grace. 

A  word  to-day,  or  a  smile  to-morrow, 

Lovingly,  freely  given, 
May  lift  a  soul  from  the  depths  of  sorrow 

Up  to  the  heights  of  heaven. 


54 


LOVE  IS  LIFE. 

Many  years  have  we  lived  together, 
Equally  sharing  their  changing  weather ; 
One  in  our  joy,  and  dreading  no  sorrow, 
Knowing  each  heart  would  be  true  for  the  morrow; 
With  love  growing  every  day  brighter  and  purer, 
With  love  growing  every  day  stronger  and  surer, 
What  care  we  that  they  call  us  "  old  lovers  f  " 
Far  better  that  than  to  be  old  rovers ; 
For  since  you  first  gave  me  this  sweet  name,  "  Wife," 
Life  has  been  love,  and  love  has  been  life. 

Happy  years !  how  soon  they  've  passed  o'er  us  ! 
God  only  knows  how  few  lie  before  us ! 
Earth  has  not  many  for  those  who  live  longest, 
But  over  death's  might  we  know  love  is  strongest ; 
And  God,  who  has  taught  us  to  call  Him  our  Father, 
All  His  dear  children  in  one  home  will  gather. 
Then  in  that  new  world  where  death  cannot  sever, 
Love  will  enfold  us  more  closely  forever ; 
And  though  only  here  you  may  call  me  "  Sweet  Wife," 
Yet  life  will  be  love  there,  and  love  will  be  life. 


55 


MY  CROWN. 

I  wear  a  crown  to  which  might  bow 

The  proudest  earthly  queen, 
Yet  jewels  never  span  my  brow, 

Nor  in  my  hair  are  seen. 

Its  priceless  worth,  its  preciousuess, 

No  words  can  fitly  tell ; 
None  know  the  treasure  I  possess 

Save  those  who  love  me  well. 

And  yet  my  crown  reflected  gleams 

"Within  my  happy  eyes, 
As  clearly  as  in  crystal  streams 

The  glory  of  the  skies. 

Though  time  and  age  may  work  their  best 

Its  beauty  to  deface, 
Yet  rust  or  stain  can  never  rest 

Upon  its  matchless  grace. 

All  earthly  honor  and  renown 

I  hold  it  far  above  — 
My  jewel  fair,  my  spotless  crown 

Of  happy  wedded  love. 


56 


GRANDMOTHER. 

She  sits  in  the  corner  singing, 

With  a  voice  so  soft  and  low, 
The  songs  she  sang  to  her  babies 

In  the  summers  of  long  ago  — 
The  beautiful,  happy  summers, 

With  life  and  with  love  aglow, 

When  her  darlings  were  all  about  her, 
And  the  touch  of  their  dimpled  hands 

Thrilled  her  through  and  through  with  the  rapture 
A  mother  alone  understands ; 

And  their  kisses  were  far  more  precious 
Than  the  Jewell  of  many  lands. 

Now  the  years  have  furrowed  with  wrinkles 

The  face  that  was  once  so  fair, 
But  it  wears  a  gentler  beauty 

'Neath  its  crown  of  silver  hair, 
Telling  its  story  of  patience, 

Learned  in  a  life  of  care. 

Her  once  springing  step  goes  faltering 

Along  the  half  unseen  way ; 
Her  ear  hears  but  faintly  the  voices 

That  flutter  around  her  to-day ; 
But  through  years  that  have  vanished,  she  catches 

The  glee  of  her  children  at  play. 
8  57 


Our  boy  comes  often  at  twilight, 

From  his  play,  to  sit  at  her  knee, 

Pleading,  "  Tell  me  a  story,  Grandma, 
Of  your  young  days  that  used  to  be, 

When  my  uncles  were  little  children, 
And  papa  a  boy  like  me." 

So  carefully  folding  her  knitting 

Under  her  withered  hands, 
She  gathers  together  her  life  threads, 

And  holding  the  broken  strands, 
She  weaves  them  till  each  fits  the  other, 

And  all  to  a  story  expands. 

For  though  husband  and  sons  have  been  taken, 
And  daughters  laid  low  side  by  side  ; 

While  hopes  that  clung  brightly  around  them, 
With  them  in  their  graves  have  died  ; 

Yet  always  her  words  are  cheerful, 
As  though  by  no  sorrow  tried. 

But  her  cup  has  been  brimmed  with  sorrow 
That  would  make  the  strongest  shrink, 

Her  hopes  and  her  joys  have  been  severed 
Ruthlessly,  link  by  link : 

Yet  reaching  life's  farthest  threshold, 
She  calmly  looks  over  the  brink. 

Perhaps  she  waits  but  a  little, 

To  teach  us  some  lessons  still 
Of  patience  under  the  guidance 

Of  a  loving  Father's  will, 
And  of  cheerfulness,  though  with  sorrow 

Life's  cup  He  sees  best  to  fill. 

58 


For  this  world  is  to  her  but  the  shadow 

Of  a  brighter  one  to  come ; 
And  her  feet  are  nearing  the  river 

Beyond  which  they  long  to  roam, 
Where  her  children  are  watching  and  waiting 

To  welcome  the  mother  home. 

Yet  still  we  cling  to  her  closely, 
And  while  she  lingers  we  pray 

That  God  spare  her  a  little  longer, 
Or  give  us  her  spirit  to-day, 

That  we  may  teach  others  the  lesson 
When  the  mother  is  called  away. 


59 


RENEWAL. 

Withered  and  dead !  the  sweet  flowers  that  we  gather 

Fresh  in  the  morning  are  withered  at  eve ; 
Scarce  have  we  learned  in  their  beauty  to  love  them, 

Ere  in  their  fading  they  teach  us  to  grieve ; 
Winds  of  the  autumn  and  snows  of  the  winter 

Scatter  their  leaflets,  and  cover  them  o'er, 
And  in  the  blindness  of  childhood  we  mourn  them, 

Thinking  their  beauty  will  greet  us  no  more  ; 
But  when  the  warm,  sunny  days  of  the  springtime 

Come  with  their  gentle  and  life-giving  tread, 
Gladly  we  gaze  on  their  fresh  bloom,  forgetting 

That  we  had  grieved  for  them,  withered  and  dead. 

Withered  and  dead  !  the  bright  hopes  that  we  cherish 

Glow  like  the  starlight,  but  fade  ere  the  day ; 
Though  they  may  come  at  our  bidding  to  cheer  us, 

Yet  as  we  grasp  them  they  vanish  away ; 
As  we  look  backward,  and  over  Life's  river, 

Transient  as  bubbles  they  break  on  the  shore, 
Like  a  sweet  dream  of  the  night-time  they  bless  us, 

But  in  the  morning  remembered  no  more. 
Still  vainly  striving  to  pierce  the  dim  future, 

Fainting  with  sorrow  and  blinded  with  tears, 
Other  hopes  rise  in  the  distance  before  us, 

Lighting  the  pathway  that  leads  through  the 
years. 

60 


Oh !  may  we  not  when  the  journey  is  ended, 

Weary  and  fainting  we  sink  on  the  shore, 
Find  that  the  angels  have  garnered  our  treasures 

Where  they  will  wither  and  vanish  no  more : 
All  our  sweet  flowers  in  their  unfading  beauty, 

Brighter  by  far  than  when  watered  by  tears ; 
Hopes  all  fulfilled  with  sure  promise  of  yielding 

Harvests  of  fruit  through  eternity's  years. 
We  will  not  mourn  then  for  hopes  that  have  vanished, 

Flowers  that  have  withered,  though  they  were 

fair, 
But  with  an  eye  of  faith  gladly  look  heavenward, 

Trusting  that  angels  have  gathered  them  there. 


61 


HEARTH  AND  HOME. 

How  sweet  to  look  back  to  the  days  when  in  gladness 
We  danced  from  the  hearthstone  to  play  or  to 

school ; 
When  life,  just  beginning,  knew  nought  of  life's 

sadness, 

For  home  was  our  Eden,  and  love  was  its  rule. 
Each  day,  filled  with  joy,  made  the  far-off  to-morrow 
Seem  bright  as  the  sunshine  and  light  as  sea- 
foam, 

For  joy  was  all  heightened,  and  banished  all  sorrow 
By  Mother,  who  smiled  from  the  hearthstone  at 
home. 

Oh,  the  old  hearth  at  home ! 
The  dear  hearth  at  home  ! 
We  '11  love  them  forever,  our  own  hearth  and 
home ! 

How  oft  they  have  rung  with  our  echoing  laughter 

When  shadows  of  evening  were  gathering  gloom, 
While  stories,  and  music  sweet  following  after, 
And  bright  faces  filled  all  the  shadows  with 

bloom ! 
Dear  brothers  and  sisters,  who  clustered  around  us, 

No  matter  at  midday  how  far  we  might  roam, 
For  surely  at  evening  the  strong  ties  that  bound  us 
Would  gather  the  flock  round  the  warm  hearth 
at  home. 

62 


Oh !  the  old  hearth  at  home ! 
The  dear  hearth  at  home  ! 
We  '11  love  them  forever,  our  own  hearth  and 
home. 

And  evening  is  coming;  the  dear  home  above  us 
Holds  some  who  have  laid  down  the  cross  for  the 

crown ; 
But  others  there  are  who  are  left  still  to  love  us 

And  wait  for  the  call  to  lay  life's  burden  down. 
Not  here ;  for  the  old  home  is  filled  with  strange 

faces, 

Our  weary  feet  never  among  them  may  roam, 
But  mem'ry  and  love  fill  up  all  the  old  places 

And  center  their  light  'round  the  old  hearth  at 
home. 

Oh !  the  old  hearth  at  home ! 
The  dear  hearth  at  home ! 
We  '11  love  them  forever,  our  own  hearth  and 
home. 


"HAPPIER  NOW." 

I  met  her  in  the  morn  of  life, 

A  bud  with  glowing  leaves, 
As  beautiful,  as  fair  and  pure, 

As  nature's  hand  e'er  weaves. 
I  watched  her  while  the  light  of  truth 

To  her  young  soul  was  given ; 
I  saw  the  smile  that  lit  her  brow, 

And  knew  the  seal  of  Heaven. 

I  lingered  till  another  leaf 

Had  opened  in  her  life, 
Her  hand  was  in  another  placed, 

And  loved  lips  murmured,  "  Wife  " ; 
I  saw  the  smile  her  childhood  knew 

Grow  brighter  on  her  brow, 
And  asked  her  why  the  smile  was  changed. 

She  whispered,  "  Happier  now." 

We  met  once  more,  the  chain  of  love 

That  bound  her  here  was  riven ; 
The  bright  life  leaves  were  closed  on  earth, 

To  open  new  in  heaven ; 
Her  childhood's  smile,  the  seal  of  Heaven, 

Still  lingered  on  her  brow, 
And  as  I  gazed  upon  her  there, 

I  whispered,  "  Happier  now." 


APRIL   BAIN. 

Like  the  songs  of  birds  sounds  the  April  rain 

As  it  falls  on  the  roof  to-night, 
Like  forgotten  words  from  some  old  refrain  — 
Forgotten  long  years,  and  remembered  again, 

It  filleth  my  heart  with  delight. 

And  it  bringeth  me  treasures  of  Long  Ago, 
That  I  thought  I  should  see  no  more : 
There  are  beautiful  tresses  untouched  by  snow, 
And  the  sweetest  of  lips  whence  love  words  flow, 
And  the  garments  that  loved  ones  wore. 

Oh !  the  treasures  it  bringeth  are  dearer  far 

Than  the  costliest  gems  could  buy  — 
My  childhood's  home  from  the  past  afar, 
Where  my  beacon  of  hope,  and  my  guiding  star, 
Was  the  light  in  my  mother's  eye. 

I  am  bending  again  at  my  mother's  knee, 
While  her  arm  is  around  me  thrown ; 

And  her  voice,  as  she  murmurs  a  prayer  for  me, 

Is  thrilling  my  soul  with  its  melody, 

With  its  low  and  musical  tone. 
9  65 


You  have  brought  me  a  blessing,  sweet  April  rain, 

You  have  flooded  my  heart  with  delight, 
You  have  cleansed  from  my  spirit  each  hateful  stain, 
You  have  summoned  my  angel  of  childhood  again 
To  watch  o'er  my  slumbers  to-night. 

He  will  banish  away  all  feverish  dreams  — 
All  dreams  of  this  earth  and  its  care ; 
He  will  tenderly  lead  me  by  soft,  flowing  streams, 
Where  the  light  of  God's  beauty  forevermore  gleams, 
And  my  treasures  will  all  be  there. 


66 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS. 

I  have  been  thinking,  and  the  bygone  years, 

Laden  with  treasures  richer  far  than  gold, 
Come  to  me  fresh  as  when  with  smiles  or  tears 

I  walked  their  pathways  in  the  days  of  old ; 
Then  the  blue  veil  that  hung  'twixt  earth  and  heaven, 

Seemed  clear  and  cloudless  as  the  dawn  of  love, 
And  the  bright  hopes  that  to  my  heart  were  given 

Were  only  just  my  eager  grasp  above. 

Father  and  Brother,  clasping  each  a  hand, 

Led  me  awhile  along  my  childhood's  way, 
Sister  and  Mother  made  the  perfect  band, 

That  only  death's  strong  grasp  could  break  away ; 
There  were  loved  voices  floating  on  the  breeze, 

Sweet  song  and  laughter  full  of  heartfelt  glee, 
And  the  dear  home  beneath  its  sheltering  trees, 

Seemed  like  a  paradise  of  love  to  me. 

I  have  been  thinking,  and  those  bygone  years, 

Laden  with  treasures  richer  far  than  gold, 
Come  to  me  fresh  as  when  with  smiles  or  tears 

I  walked  their  pathways  in  the  days  of  old. 
Though  they  were  happy,  I  would  not  turn  back, 

E'en  were  it  given  to  tread  the  life  path  o'er, 
Though  the  dim  future  seems  a  shadowy  track 

Stretching  I  know  not  to  what  length  before. 
67 


And  though  thick  darkness  shrouds  the  way  afar, 

Yet  by  an  unseen  hand  the  clouds  are  riven ; 
And  sometimes,  by  the  glimmer  of  a  star, 

My  eye  of  faith  looks  on  and  up  to  heaven. 
Then,  trusting  in  His  love  who  watcheth  over  all, 

We  '11  meet  the  future,  thou  dear  one  and  I, 
Waiting  and  listening  for  the  angels'  call 

To  join  them  in  their  home  beyond  the  sky. 


68 


MY  OTHER  HEART. 

Beating  with  mine  own  heart, 

Ever  keeping  time, 
Like  the  measured  numbers 

Of  a  poet's  rhyme, 
Falls  another  heart-beat, 

Ever  pure  and  true, 
As  on  thirsty  flowers 

Falls  refreshing  dew. 
Never  mind  how  distant, 

Though  't  were  either  pole, 
Still  its  love  would  reach  me, 

Thrilling  all  my  soul. 
Surely  as  the  summer 

Blossoms  come  and  go, 
Surely  as  the  winter 

Bringeth  sleet  and  snow, 
As  the  gentle  springtime 

Comes  with  flowers  and  rain, 
As  the  bounteous  autumn 

Bringeth  fruit  again, 
Will  this  other  heart-beat 

Fall  upon  mine  own, 
With  the  sweetest  music 

I  have  ever  known ; 
Like  the  echoing  numbers 

Of  some  music  rhyme, 
Beating  with  mine  own  heart, 

Keeping  perfect  time. 


69 


CHANGES. 

Oh !  changes  will  come  to  this  world  of  ours, 
Will  set  their  seal  on  the  fairest  flow'rs, 
Will  darken  the  light  in  the  brightest  eye, 
And  turn  the  laugh  to  the  heart-wrung  sigh. 
The  laughing  child  at  the  early  dawn 
Bounds  forth  with  a  step  like  the  leaping  fawn, 
But  the  laugh  is  hushed  ere  the  noonday  sun, 
And  the  step  grows  slow  ere  the  day  is  done ; 
And  another  morning  we  look  in  vain 
For  that  little  form  in  our  path  again ; 
There  's  a  slower  step,  and  a  thoughtful  brow — 
The  child  that  we  knew  is  a  woman  now. 

The  sunlight  lay  on  the  cottage  floor, 
Like  a  thread  of  gold,  in  the  days  of  yore ; 
But  shadows  play  with  the  sunbeams  now, 
And  shadows  linger  around  my  brow, 
For  voices  that  once  sent  a  joyous  thrill 
To  my  loving  heart  have  long  been  still ; 
And  hearts  that  I  thought  could  never  grow  cold 
Have  lain  long  years  'neath  the  rain  and  mold. 
Ye  are  fearful  workers,  O  Time  and  Death  ! 
Ye  darken  the  eye,  and  ye  hush  the  breath ; 
Ye  are  ever  changing  this  world  of  ours, 
Unsparingly  reaping  both  grass  and  flow'rs. 

70 


But  though  joys  that  were  mine  have  gone  to  decay, 
Though  hopes  like  the  sunbeams  have  passed  away, 
Though  hearts  that  I  trusted  grow  cold  to  me, 
Yet  still,  dear  friend,  do  I  lean  on  thee. 
I  lean  on  thee,  and  I  feel  no  fears 
As  my  soul  looks  on  to  the  future  years, 
But  say  to  my  soul,  though  these  changes  be, 
There  is  still  one  heart  will  be  true  to  thee ; 
One  friend  to  love,  though  all  others  change, 
Who  will  never  in  life  grow  com  or  strange ; 
And  when  Time  and  Death  for  their  harvest  come, 
Will  love  thee  still  in  another  home. 


71 


GROW  NOT  OLD. 

Keep  your  heart  from  growing  old ; 

Then  your  pathway  through  the  years, 
Though  it  be  not  paved  with  gold, 

Still  shall  not  be  wet  with  tears ; 
Care  and  trouble  overmuch 

Dim  the  eye  and  cloud  the  brow, 
More  than  Time's  corroding  touch, 

More  than  you  may  dream  of  now. 

Ever  to  your  inmost  heart 

Draw  love's  sunshine  and  its  dew ; 
Then  the  little  buds  that  start 

Shall  expand  in  flowers  for  you. 
Shut  not  out  one  kindly  thought ; 

It  will  grow  to  loving  words, 
Sounding  to  some  aching  heart 

Sweeter  than  the  songs  of  birds. 

Strive  to  keep  your  spirit  bright ; 

Strive  to  keep  it  pure  and  fair, 
Meet  for  robes  of  spotless  white, 

Meet  to  dwell  where  angels  are  ; 
Then  shall  Peace  with  folded  wing 

Find  within  your  heart  her  throne, 
Then  the  songs  that  angels  sing 

Shall  be  kindred  to  your  own. 


72 


TO  MY  HUSBAND. 

Sweet  Spring  has  come  to  warm  the  earth's  cold 
bosom ; 

To  fling  her  glories  over  hill  and  plain ; 
To  throw  aside  cold  Winter's  snowy  mantle, 

And  don  her  robe  of  green  and  flowers  again. 
Light,  dancing  feet  are  tripping  o'er  the  hillside, 

And  fair,  soft  hands  the  buds  and  blossoms 

twine, 
And  songs  of  praise  well  up  from  each  glad  bosom 

That  find  an  answering  echo  deep  in  mine. 
I  thank  my  Father  for  the  earthly  blessings 

That  He  has  given  with  such  free  hand  to  me ; 
But  most  of  all  for  thee,  my  own  beloved,  — 

Yes,  most  of  all  for  thee ! 

For  what  to  me  were  life,  and  light,  and  beauty, 

Without  thy  loving  presence  here  to  bless  ? 
And  what  to  me  the  touch  of  Spring's  soft  kisses, 

Without  thy  cheering  smile,  thy  fond  caress  ? 
Thy  smile  can  scatter  sunbeams  o'er  my  spirit, 

Where  erewhile  shadows  gloomily  have  lain  ; 
Thy  voice  can  thrill  the  heart-strings  that  have 
slumbered, 

And  bid  them  wake  to  joy  and  hope  again. 
I  thank  my  Father  for  the  earthly  blessings 

That  He  has  given  with  such  free  hand  to  me ; 
But  most  of  all  for  thee,  my  own  beloved, — 

Yes,  most  of  all  for  thee  ! 
10  .73 


I  lay  my  head  upon  my  pillow  nightly, 

With  the  sweet  thought  that  thy  true  heart  is 

mine; 
And  in  my  dreams  my  spirit  seeks  thy  presence, 

As  turns  the  pilgrim  to  some  holy  shrine. 
I  go  about  my  daily  round  of  duties 

With  step  as  light  as  this  sweet  springtime  air ; 
And  ever  in  my  heart  a  blessing  for  thee, 

And  ever  on  my  lips  a  voiceless  prayer. 
I  praise  my  Father  for  the  earthly  blessings 

That  He  has  given  with  such  free  hand  to  me ; 
But  most  of  all  for  thee,  my  own  beloved, — 

Yes,  most  of  all  for  thee  ! 


74 


WHY  SHOULD  WE  FEAE? 

Why  should  we  stand  with  lingering  feet, 
With  trembling  heart  and  stifling  breath, 

Before  the  darkened  bridge  that  spans 
The  narrow  river  we  call  Death  ? 

Beyond  are  fairer  lands  than  ours, 

A  fresher  air,  a  purer  sky, 
Where  love's  pale  buds  unfold  their  flowers, 

No  more  in  cold  neglect  to  die. 

If  we  but  grasp  the  outstretched  hand 
That  reaches  through  the  dark  to  guide, 

Surprised,  our  faltering  feet  shall  stand 
Full  soon  upon  the  other  side ; 

And  looking  forward  from  the  gloom, 
Full  morning  breaking  on  our  sight, 

We  '11  know  we  've  reached  our  Father's  home, 
Where  never  more  is  said  "  Good-night." 


75 


A  CHILD'S  THOUGHTS. 

The  garden  was  full  of  sweet  roses 

But  a  little  while  ago  ; 
The  meadows  were  sprinkled  with  daisies 

Almost  as  white  as  the  snow. 

The  river  went  singing  softly, 

The  wind  murmured  low  and  sweet, 

And  scattered  soft  rose  leaves  like  fairies 
All  over  my  dancing  feet. 

The  wheat-fields  nodded  a  welcome 

Whenever  I  went  that  way ; 
The  butterflies  flitted  around  me, 

And  all  was  so  merry  and  gay. 

Not  a  rose  blooms  now  in  the  garden, 
The  meadows  are  bare  and  brown ; 

There  is  nothing  left  of  the  summer  — 
Not  even  the  thistle-down. 

The  birds  have  forgotten  their  singing, 
The  flowers  have  forgotten  their  friend ; 

I  did  not  dream  that  the  summer 
So  soon  would  come  to  an  end. 
76 


I  have  sung  all  day  like  a  robin, 
I  have  been  like  a  butterfly  gay, 

And  the  nights  were  as  good  as  the  mornings, 
So  sweet  was  the  rest  after  play. 

But  why  should  I  try  to  be  happy 
If  everything  bright  must  fade  ? 

If  I  must  grow  old  like  the  summer, 
I  cannot  see  why  I  was  made. 

"  The  shadows  come  from  within  you, 

And  so  does  the  sunshine  too ; " 
That 's  what  Mother  told  me  this  morning, 
And  what  Mother  says  must  be  true. 

But  how  shall  I  make  it  shine  through  me, 
For  I  'm  neither  a  fairy  nor  elf  I 

Mother  says,  "  By  working  for  others, 
And  not  thinking  so  much  of  myself." 

So  I  '11  try  to  be  bright  and  cheerful, 
Making  sunshine  wherever  I  go ; 

That  the  winter  may  shine  as  the  summer, 
And  the  summer  may  come  ere  I  know. 


77 


SPRINGTIME. 

Old  Winter  scurries  swiftly, 
And  hither  comes  the  May-time, 

While  Earth  awakes  her  children, 
Who  think  it  must  be  playtime. 

But  with  a  gentle  shaking, 
She  says,  "  No  time  for  playing ; 

But  do  your  work  right  bravely, 
And  then  may  you  go  maying." 

So  fairy  Grass,  upspringing, 

Throws  off  her  dull  brown  bedding, 
And  in  its  place  a  carpet 

Of  tender  green  is  spreading. 

The  family  of  Wild  Flowers 

Each  baby  bud  is  lifting 
To  catch  the  warm,  bright  sun-rays 

That  over  them  are  drifting. 

The  brooks  throw  off  the  rubbish 
That  Winter  has  collected ; 

And  laugh  and  sing,  though  really 
There  's  more  than  they  expected. 

78 


The  little  birds  are  nodding 
Their  happy  heads  together, 

Not  like  us,  silly  mortals, 
Discussing  wind  or  weather. 

But,  "  It  is  time  for  building," 

They  say  to  each  new-comer ; 
"  The  branches  of  the  maples, 
Throw  out  a  hint  of  summer. 

"  The  peach  buds  and  the  apple 

Are  peeping  forth  with  blushes ; 
The  bushes  by  the  wayside 
Are  ready  for  the  thrushes." 

"  Old  willows  by  the  river 

Have  set  their  pennons  swinging, 
And  everything  around  us 
Some  new  work  is  beginning." 

Then,  to  us  children  nodding, 
They  sing,  "  Though  it  is  May-time, 

Let 's  do  our  work  right  bravely, 
And  thus  we  '11  earn  our  play-time. 

"  Let 's  brighten  up  our  working 

With  whistling  or  with  singing  ; 
So  when  our  tasks  are  ended, 
We  '11  think  them  just  beginning. 

"  For  hearts  and  hands  together 

Make  hard  work  glow  with  beauty ; 
For  happiness,  my  darlings, 
Goes  hand  in  hand  with  duty." 
79 


LIFE'S  BLESSINGS. 

"  Coop !  Mama  come  and  find  me," 

I  hear  a  sweet  voice  say ; 
And  with  love's  ready  footstep, 
I  hasten  to  obey. 

With  quiet,  eager  hurry 
I  search  in  every  nook ; 

Impossible  to  find  him 
In  places  where  I  look  ! 

Among  the  books  and  pictures, 
Beneath  the  easy-chair ; 

Except  just  where  he  's  hiding, 
I  seek  him  everywhere. 

Until  at  last,  pretending 
My  search  is  all  in  vain, 

I  say,  "  Where  is  my  Blessing  ? 
He  must  say  '  Coop ! '  again." 

How  quickly  comes  with  laughter 

His  answer  in  my  ear : 
"  Why  !  can't  you  find  me,  Mama  ? 
I  'in  right  behind  you  here." 

80 


I  shower'his  face  with  kisses, 
I  fold  him  to  my  breast, 

Where,  when  with  play  aweary, 
He  always  comes  to  rest. 

And  with  my  precious  darling 
Asleep  and  fairly  caught, 

I  ponder  o'er  the  lesson 
His  little  play  has  taught. 

How  many  eager  seekers 
Go  groping  all  life's  way, 

With  outstretched  hands  o'erreaching 
The  blessings  of  each  day ! 

While  close  beside  them  lurketh 
The  beauty  and  the  bloom ; 

Too  near  them  blush  the  roses, 
Too  close  the  sweet  perfume. 

Oh,  eager,  anxious  seekers, 

Why  look  so  far  away  I 
Life's  richest  treasures  cluster 

About  your  path  to-day. 

Look  not  so  far  beyond  you, 
But  see  them  at  your  feet, 

Not  crowned  with  wondrous  beauty, 
Perchance,  but  full  and  sweet. 

Then  lift  them  up  right  gladly, 
And  fold  them  to  your  breast ; 

Their  love  will  bring  contentment, 

The  want  of  it,  unrest. 
11  '  81 


"AWAKE  AND  SING." 

Isaiah  xxvi.  19. 

Oh !  awake  and  sing, 

Ye  that  dwell  in  the  dust ! 
Let  the  whole  earth  ring 

With  your  song  of  trust ! 
For  your  dew  is  the  dew 

Of  the  opening  flower, 
And  your  soul  shall  renew 

Its  strength  and  power. 

For  your  life  is  hid 

With  your  risen  Lord  ; 
Then  who  shall  forbid 

That  you  trust  His  word  ? 
Not  death,  nor  the  grave, 

Can  your  body  chain ; 
For  He  died  to  save, 

And  is  risen  again  ! 

He  has  risen  again, 

And  set  wide  the  door 
That  by  sin  and  pain 

Was  shut  fast  before ; 
Now  through  death's  dark  night, 

And  the  grave's  sad  way, 
Shines  the  glorious  light 

Of  your  Easter  Day. 

Refrain.    Then  awake ! 

Oh !  awake  and  sing  ! 


82 


"THE  MORN  IS  BREAKING." 

The  morn  is  breaking  in  a  wondrous  light 

This  blessed  day, 
Dispelling  all  the  blackness  of  the  night 

In  one  glad  ray ; 
For  through  the  dawn  that  breaks  the  midnight 

gloom 
We  see  God's  angels  at  the  empty  tomb. 

The  tomb  where  once  our  dearest  and  our  best 

Were  buried  deep ; 
Whence  nought  availed  to  still  our  wild  unrest, 

Or  break  their  sleep ; 

Where  hope  breathed  not  of  any  life  again, 
And  love  seemed  but  a  memory  of  pain. 

But  oh  !  what  joy  is  shining  through  our  tears 

This  blessed  day ! 
What  alleluias  conquer  all  our  fears 

This  Easter  day ! 

For  now  through  Christ,  who  died  and  rose  again, 
We  know  our  hopes  and  longings  are  not  vain. 

No  more  amid  the  shadows  need  we  grope, 

Blinded  with  tears ; 
Forever  with  us  lives  this  deathless  hope, 

Calming  our  fears, 

That  with  our  Lord,  who  gave  us  life  and  breath, 
We,  too,  may  rise  triumphant  over  death. 


83 


EASTER  JOY. 

Every  flower  that  blossoms 

Fresh  from  moldy  earth, 
Sings  of  resurrection, 

Whispers  of  new  birth ; 
Every  plant  that,  dying, 

Seems  to  meet  decay, 
Only  waits  in  patience 

For  an  Easter  day. 

Seeds  of  promise,  scattered 

Over  all  the  land, 
Spring  to  life  and  beauty, 

Guided  by  God's  hand ; 
And  our  souls,  more  precious 

Than  all  earth  beside, 
Surely  shall  awaken 

At  some  Easter-tide. 

Then  let  hearts  and  voices 

Easter  anthems  sing ; 
Then  let  alleluias 

Through  the  glad  earth  ring. 
For  our  Christ  has  risen, 

And  beyond  the  grave, 
Over  death  and  sorrow, 

He  is  strong  to  save. 


u  CHRIST   OUR  LORD  IS  RISEN  TO-DAY." 

Christ  our  Lord  is  risen  to-day ! 

How  our  hearts  are  bounding 
As  we  hear  the  joyous  lay 

Through  the  world  resounding ! 

Christ  our  Lord  is  risen  to-day ! 

Words  of  glorious  meaning ! 
Richest  kernel  in  the  sheaves 

Of  the  old  years'  gleaning ! 

We  have  traced  His  weary  steps 

Through  the  desert  places, 
We  have  looked  with  pitying  eyes 

On  the  scornful  faces ; 

Heard  the  rabble's  mocking  jeers 
As  they  gathered  'round  Him ; 

Felt  the  tightening  of  the  cords 
As  they  rudely  bound  Him. 

With  the  Marys  we  have  wept 

Tears  of  bitter  sorrow ; 
Dreading  all  the  loneliness 

Of  the  coming  morrow. 
11*  85 


But  our  Lord  has  risen  to-day ; 

Every  heart  is  swelling, 
As  His  ministers  of  love 

These  glad  words  are  telling. 

There  is  joy  in  every  heart  — 
Joy  in  earth  and  heaven  — 

For  the  glorious  promises 
That  to-day  are  given. 

Every  soul  is  newly  born, 
And  our  songs  of  gladness, 

Breaking  on  this  happy  morn, 
Hush  each  note  of  sadness. 

Even  now  may  faith's  clear  sight 
See  heaven's  open  portal, 

For  with  Him  we  rise  to  life — 
We,  too,  are  immortal. 


86 


"SING  ALLELUIA!" 

Sing,  loving  hearts !  Death's  power  no  more 

Can  fill  you  with  dismay, 
For  Christ  has  opened  wide  the  door 

That  leads  to  endless  day. 

Sing  Alleluia ! 

Sing,  weary  hearts !  Christ  speeds  the  time 
When,  with  no  cares  oppressed, 

Your  feet  shall  reach  those  heights  sublime 
That  promise  perfect  rest. 

Sing  Alleluia ! 

Sing,  mourning  hearts  !  the  grave's  dark  way 

Leads  upward  to  the  light 
Of  that  most  perfect  Easter  day 

That  knows  nor  grief  nor  night. 
Sing  Alleluia ! 

Sing,  happy  hearts !  this  Day  of  days 

To  all  the  world  belongs ; 
Then  let  all  raise  glad  hymns  of  praise 

To  join  the  angels'  songs. 

Sing  Alleluia ! 


THE   SONG  OF   SALVATION. 

Once  when  the  world  lay  aweary 

Under  the  kingdom  of  wrong, 
Over  the  hills  of  Judea 

Floated  a  wonderful  song ; 
Only  a  few  poor  shepherds 

Heard  it,  and  heeded  it  then : 
"  Glory  to  God  in  the  Highest, 

Peace  and  good  will  to  men  !" 

Up  from  the  slumbering  ages, 

All  through  the  years  gone  by, 
Swelleth  the  song  that  the  angels 

Sang  to  the  earth  and  sky  — 
Song  of  a  world's  salvation, 

Wonderful  now  as  then: 
"  Glory  to  God  in  the  Highest, 

Peace  and  good  will  to  men  !  " 

Now  from  the  loftiest  temple, 

Now  from  the  lowliest  home, 
Over  the  world's  wide  borders, 

Up  through  the  heaven's  blue  dome, 
Ringeth  the  song  of  redemption, 

Blessing,  where  woe  hath  been  : 
"  Glory  to  God  in  the  Highest, 

Peace  and  good  will  to  men ! " 


CHRISTMAS  MORN. 

How  darkly  dawned  the  morning, 

So  many  years  ago, 
To  longing  hearts  that,  waiting, 

Beat  wearily  and  slow ; 
For  He,  the  great  Deliverer, 

So  glorious  in  song, 
So  wonderful  in  story, 
Came  not,  though  promised  long. 
Yet  He  was  born 
That  distant  morn, 
So  far  away, 
So  near  to-day.    Alleluia ! 

They  longed  to  pay  Him  homage ; 
They  longed  to  call  Him  King ; 
They  talked  of  all  the  honor 

His  glorious  reign  would  bring  j 
Yet  were  their  eyes  so  blinded 
They  could  not  see  the  star 
That  guided  to  His  cradle 
The  wise  men  from  afar. 
For  Christ  was  born 
That  distant  morn, 
So  far  away, 
So  near  to-day.    Alleluia ! 


How  brightly  dawns  this  morning, 

This  merry  Christmas  day, 
On  lofty  and  on  lowly ; 

For  none  can  say  Him  nay, 
Who  comes  with  love  to  succor 
The  homeless  and  oppressed, 
To  give  the  slave  his  freedom, 
To  bring  the  weary  rest. 
For  Christ  is  born 
This  Christmas  morn, 
Not  far  away, 
But  here  to-day.     Alleluia ! 

In  palaces  of  beauty 

He  dwelleth  not  apart, 
But  makes  His  lowly  temple 

In  every  loving  heart ; 
Then  let  our  happy  voices 
The  highest  praises  sing 
To  Him,  our  Elder  Brother, 
Our  Saviour  and  our  King ! 
For  He  is  born 
This  Christmas  morn ; 
He  holds  in  sway 
The  world  to-day.     Alleluia ! 


90 


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